Title: Raw Precision
Author: UConnFan (Michele)
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.
Three chapters in barely then 24hrs! That's *got* to be a record (where *is* this story coming from? lol)
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He'd mumbled that he was going to get her something to drink, once again leaving her in solitude. She could still vividly remember visiting her mother there, before her mother betrayed the CIA. This cell was the last place she'd ever imagine that she'd end up, not even in the wildest of her nightmares. Everything had been going so well recently (if your idea of recently is nearly two years ago, a bitter voice behind her mind pointed out) that she should have known something was going to go wrong. Perhaps if her car had broken down or Francie's restaurant had a slow down in customers, but this was a bit beyond a few small things going wrong to balance out everything that had been going so well.

The look of discomfort hadn't left his eyes when he reappeared. "Here," he solemnly handed her a blue plastic cup. "It's orange juice."

His eyes followed her as she took a small sip and then glanced back at him, "It's lukewarm."

"That's how you like it," he reminded.

"Yeah," she looked down at her hand. "It is."

"They won't let you eat before you go to medical services -"

"I'm not hungry," she stopped him as she took another sip. "My father?"

"Jack should be here soon," he assured her.

"Thank you," she muttered in such a tone that she had flashbacks to bozo hair, bloody mouths and pens void of ink.

"Don't do this to me Syd," he urged as her stony eyes met him. Instead of chocolate they reminded him of a rock that had gotten lost among the debris of what had been her life. "This is a nightmare for me too."

She had to bite her tongue from saying something she knew she'd regret. Deep down she wanted to inflict on him all the pain she was feeling right now, the confusion and the nightmare that was now her life. More than that, in the places of her heart and soul that would always belong to him, she wanted him to fix it all. To take away her pain and to set things right again. He'd been able to do it without much effort for a while now. Did he do such things for his wife now?

In that instant, sitting on the cot as he stood half a room away from her - it looked like half a galaxy to her and felt like even more - she decided the word 'wife' was her least favorite of the English language. It was a term that ranked right up there with the name Arvin Sloane in her book. Right next to the beloved term of mother. Both were terms she was near certain she'd never be.

The sound of the gates clicking open echoed through the air before either could speak. Vaughn knew the instant that her eyes landed on her father, as her gaze grew more confused and the tears pooled even further in her eyes. Half a stride later he was at the door to the cell, holding it open as the guard wheeled in Jack Bristow, wheelchair and all.

"Dad?"

"I'm going to go -" the younger agent started to excuse himself as Jack held up a hand.

"Stay Agent Vaughn," he commanded. To her slight relief he sounded just as strong as when she'd last spoken to him. "I'm okay honey," he assured her with the closest thing he had to a smile. "We thought you were dead," he said seconds later with a straight face.

"Vaughn told me," she nodded. "Dad, I'm so sorry."

"Sydney, before you talk to Kendall I need you to tell me what *exactly* is the last thing you remember."

"Vaughn had dropped me off… we were supposed to go Santa Barbara, and he was going to pick me up after his debrief," she recalled as the younger man looked away. "Francie was there, I got some ice cream and we were talking. I checked my voice mail and there was a call from Will saying that Francie was the double… I don't remember exactly how it happened," she was unable to look at either of them as she studied her legs, suddenly growing chilly in her sparse clothing. "Francie and I were fighting. Tossing each other against windows and mirrors and doors… Fighting for this damn gun," she sniffled at the memory, still fresh in her head. "She tossed me against this mirror. I got the gun. I killed her, I killed Francie," she covered her mouth to stifle her cries. "I found Will in the bath tub while we were fighting. He looked dead, I thought… I passed out. Francie and Will, I thought they were both dead and I just passed out in my bedroom."

"That's the last thing you remember before you woke up in Hong Kong?" her Father questioned as she nodded. "They're going to take you up to medical services in a few minutes. Depending how late you finish there, they'll either take you directly to Kendall or back here to rest."

Before she could ask again what was wrong with him, the guard reappeared with a wheelchair for her and another guard to wheel her Father out. "I'll come see you when you're done," Jack promised her. All Sydney had the energy to do was nod and sit down in the wheelchair as was instructed. Her heart dropped as she passed by Vaughn and his conscience effort to keep his gaze pasted to the floor.

To her slight relief, her doctor was Dr. Nichols, someone she remembered and yet didn't know more about her life in the last two years than she did. He was still cordial and gentle, as he was years before, when there were questions over what was in the water from Taipei and whether or not she and Vaughn were sick. That seemed like a lifetime ago. For her it was merely a few months, for everyone else it was a handful of years. They were pleasant but distant to her there as she underwent a battery of tests, from blood and DNA being taken to an ocular scan. As they poked and prodded her, Sydney desperately wanted to ask what was wrong with her father - if anyone in the CIA would know, surely it would be medical services - but restrained herself.

"Why don't you rest for a little while Agent Bristow, before you talk to a therapist," Dr. Nichols suggested as one of the orderlies wheeled her into a familiar room. The last time she'd been in the room Vaughn had been there, her angel in a white cotton T-shirt. Alone, she thanked him and gently turned down his offer to bring her some food. The last thing she wanted was food.

The ceiling was even less fascinating then she remembered it being. Absently she traced the new scar and struggled to understand everything. People don't just disappear for nearly two years, she was sure of that, but she had no reasonable explanation. There were so many questions racing in her head. Personally, the most important were the developments with her father and Vaughn. Still, she had so much more to find out - what happened to her Mother? Sloane? Sark? What had happened to Dixon and Marshall? Where was Will? Did he still hate her? Was anything at all how she remembered it to be?

Even in her confusion, she was comfortable with the knowledge that some things about her would never change. Whatever she had been doing, wherever she had been, she was certain that she had not willingly betrayed her government. Her father was still on her side, which was one thing that hadn't changed since his distant days of her youth. Lastly, Michael Vaughn was still the man she loved, the only man she could imagine a life with, regardless of whether he returned it or not. Someone had once told her that if you loved someone, set him or her free - if they returned to you, they were yours, if they didn't, they never were. Time would be the ultimate test of their relationship.

Somehow she'd slipped into a dreamless slumber. There weren't even nightmares, just black holes in her mind. The next thing she recalled was Dr. Nichols sitting across from her, softly calling her name to rouse her from her slumber. "How are you feeling Agent Bristow?"

"What time is it?" she asked as she sat up and brushed hair from her face.

"It's almost 7:00pm. I'm sorry your tests took so long. However, we have confirmed your identity," he smiled. All she could offer was a weak half-twitch of her lips, wishing she felt the same way. "Your father brought some clothes for you to change into if you'd prefer."

"Yes, thank you," she said as he handed her a small duffel that she vaguely recognized to be her own.

"Would you like to eat or would you prefer to go directly to the counselor after you change?"

"I'm not hungry," she assured him as she added on a soft thank you.

"An orderly will be by in a few minutes to wheel you up to the counselor."

"I can walk -"

"It's protocol," he apologetically spoke. Another nod of her head and he disappeared to allow her to change. Far passed modesty, she was undaunted by the surveillance camera she knew hung in the corner. The promise of her favorite jeans and softest shirt were far too appealing for her to care who saw her half-naked. In this line of business she'd worn a lot less in front of many less savory characters.

A red-faced orderly appeared seconds later as he waited for her to sit in the wheelchair. In a squeaky voice he told her to leave her bag, since that'd be where she'd be spending the night. They went up a floor in the elevator before he rolled her in through a naked office door. He mumbled that someone would be by to bring her back to medical services as he disappeared. With the young man gone she stood and sat down on the sofa. The office was certainly not Dr. Barnet - she'd proudly proclaimed her title and credentials on a nameplate on her door. Plus the office was devoid of any personal items, sans a diploma on an otherwise bare wall and a New York Mets Beanie Baby on the desk.

The door clicked open as she adjusted her posture and stopped her inspection. With her eyes on the door she watched as the woman walked in. Sydney wondered if the CIA had any male therapists as the woman approached. Although she estimated the counselor to be shorter then she was, the redhead was by no means petite. She wore a gray sweater and black slacks that made pains to hide her voluptuous curves. The eyes that shone back at her were warm but distant and a soft shade of gray. The woman stepped up to Sydney and extended a hand, her face unreadable. "Agent Bristow, it's an honor to meet you. I'm Dr. Becky Vaughn."

Bucking manners she was tempted to not shake the woman's hand as the world crashed out from under her for the third time in less then two days. If she was seeing things correctly, this was Vaughn's *wife*. There was no doubt in her mind when she spotted the gold wedding band and matching diamond ring on her left ring finger along with the recollection that her diploma read Rebecca Cox. Michael Vaughn had married a shrink - a *company* shrink. All she needed was for someone to tell her the sky was really made out of cotton candy and everything would be in pieces under her stilettos.

"Dr. Vaughn," she struggled to curl the words over her tongue. "I don't want to be rude, but would it be at all possible for me to see another therapist?"

"Agent Bristow, I'm here to help you," the redhead smiled at her. "You could be assigned another therapist, but you should know that Michael requested that I be the one to see you."

Instinctively her eyes shut at her casual mention of 'Michael'. "Maybe you could tell me what's going on," she suggested to the redhead.

"Perhaps you could do the same thing for me," her smile widened as she took out her clipboard and pen

"They gave me an ocular scan in medical services. Why?"

"I think Michael and your Father will be able to update you on that after we're through here," she suggested. Sydney looked down at her hands and bit back her tears. Questions rushed to her mind. From the momentous - when had they married? - To the miniscule - how was Donovan? Had his hockey game improved? This woman, who bore no resemblance to either Sydney or Alice, had taken her place in his life. Briefly she wished that he'd gone back to Alice, at least she could have consoled herself that he returned to the safe haven that his former girlfriend offered.

"I really don't want to talk," she massaged her temples.

"I understand you've been through a lot Agent Bristow, but you should know that the sooner we're done here, the sooner you'll be free to go home."

The woman's attempt to be soothing caused a bitter laugh to jolt from her. "Home? I don't have a home anymore Dr. Vaughn."

"Surely you have friends. Your Father?"

"Everyone thought I was dead - thinks I'm dead," she shrugged. "My Father and I are not close Dr. Vaughn, and I'm sure it mentions in that file of yours that we never have been. Especially now that he's… sick, I couldn't dare impose on him," she testily answered. "I had two best friends. One turned out to be a double created to sabotage my entire life. The other one I thought was dead but apparently isn't, not that it matters because I've basically ruined his life and everything he ever wished for. I've loved three men in my life and all have either died or left me. Danny's dead because of my foolish decision to enter what I *thought* was the CIA at nineteen, and I killed Noah because he turned out to be an assassin who was going to kill me if I didn't kill him."

"You said there were three men. What happened to the third?"

All the willpower she had was barely enough to stop her from saying that Dr. Vaughn was married to him. Sydney wondered briefly if this woman had read her file at *all* or if she was just that naive. "I'm tired Dr. Vaughn, could we maybe continue this tomorrow?" she requested as she looked down at her hands.

"I'd like to get this through now Agent Bristow. I'm sure you would as well, so you could be free to leave."

"I'm never going to be free to leave," she muttered.

"Why do you say that?"

Sydney looked up and directly met Becky's gray eyes. Gray had always been one of her least favorite colors, and now she knew why. "Do you know what it's like to think you have everything you want? That everything is going great, that things are going to be okay? Then before you can even completely enjoy what you have, the people in your life, everything you love is taken from you? That's happened to me twice. Two times I finally had a man I loved, an honest relationship, good friends, a job where I thought I was doing good… Both times it's been taken from me. Both times because of Arvin Sloane and this damn prophet who's been dead for over two hundred years!"

"So you believe Arvin Sloane had something to do with your disappearance?"

"I killed his clone, ruined one of his masterpieces. My mother told me I was the woman Rambaldi prophesized. I didn't believe it, but he obviously did. Who else would do this to me?"

"Surely after so many years in espionage you have many enemies Agent Bristow."

"None as vindictive or self-serving as Arvin Sloane."

"Yes," she grinned, "I suspect that's the case. Your results from medical service show that you have proteins consistent with induced amnesia. I'd like to schedule an appointment to help you start recovering your memories. I'm going to warn you Agent Bristow, it's going to be painful and it's going to take time, but I feel if we work at it we might be able to regain a majority of your memories."

"Okay," she agreed. If Vaughn wanted her to see this particular therapist - even if she *was* his wife - she'd give it a shot. Hell if she could work with Arvin Sloane for years, this would be child's play.

"I'm sure you're going to want to go see your father and Michael. I'll have someone wheel you up to the debriefing. Director Kendall will be expecting my initial report in a week, so I'd like to see you again before then."

"Sure," she nodded. "I'll make an appointment before they release me," she promised.

"Thank you Agent Bristow," she shook the brunette's hand. "It was a pleasure to be able to meet you."

Silently Sydney forced a smile, relieved when the orderly arrived with her wheelchair. Without a word she got into the wheelchair and let out a sigh of relief as the orderly brought her up to a familiar conference room. As they neared she stopped him and insisted on walking in on her own, thanking him for his services. Stepping through the door five heads whipped around to look at her. As expected Kendall, Vaughn and her father were there, but to her surprise so were Marshall and Dixon.

"Agent Bristow, thank you for joining us," Kendall directed her to sit next to Vaughn in an unexpectedly sincere voice. "How are you feeling?"

The truth was she was confused and every aspect of her felt drained. Still, she knew that wasn't the answer Kendall would want, and she had been gone too long to tread on his bad side. "I'm fine," she assured him as she sunk into the seat next to Vaughn. The look her former handler shot her relayed that he knew she wasn't all right, and she suspected her father was sending her the same silent message.

"Well Agent Bristow, it's been an eventful two years without you. I assume your chock full of questions, but you're probably more interested in some sleep."

"Yes, I would," she agreed. Truthfully she'd do anything to sidestep a Kendall interrogation in her state of confusion and exhaustion.

"We'll be keeping you in custody for your safety until we clear up a bit more of this mess," he explained as she nodded. The excuse was a thin one to her but she knew better than to fight. There were too many questions *she* had before she could imagine answering any of his.

"I'll bring her back to medical services," Dixon offered as she smiled thankfully at him.

"Eat tomorrow morning Miss Bristow and then we'll start talking," Kendall commanded. A slight nod of her head and Dixon began to wheel her out.

"So are you going to tell me what's going on?" she asked in a low voice as he pushed her down the nearly empty CIA halls.

"It's been two years Syd, we had given up hope," he conceded as he reached over to press the elevator button. "How are you feeling?"

"Confused," she confessed. "Like someone's guinea pig, but I *am* going to find out what happened to me and they *are* going to pay."

"I'm glad you haven't changed," he smiled as relief surged through her. At least he hadn't changed.

"How are the kids?"

"They're good, getting big. When you're cleared you'll have to come over for dinner, meet Sarah."

"Sarah?" she teased good naturedly, the first legitimate smile crossing her features since this horror had begun.

"You're going to like her Syd, and I know Diane would."

Soberly she asked, "You think I'll be cleared?"

"I know you will be Syd," he assured her.

"Does Will hate me?"

Dixon shook his head. "No one hates you Syd. I'm sure they'll let you see him soon."

The assurance did nothing to calm her soul. One of her last, most vivid memories was stumbling upon him apparently dead in her bathtub, in a scene far too close to how she discovered Danny a handful of years earlier. Needing some levity, she changed the subject. "How's Marshall been? I've missed so much."

"Marshall's married."

"No!" her eyes widened and her grin grew as he nodded. "Carrie?"

"She's now Mrs. Carrie Flinkman."

"How long?"

"Almost a year now. I'm sure Marshall will tell you all about it."

"How long is it going to take him to get it all out?"

"Marriage hasn't changed him much at all, so make sure you clear a few hours," he smiled as they shared a comfortable laugh.

"No one's telling me what's wrong with my father."

"Jack's a strong man Sydney, a good agent, you and I both know that."

"Vaughn said he was dying," she spoke softly.

"Agent Vaughn's a good man. One day, whether your Father admits it or not, Jack expects him to fill his shoes."

"He's a good CIA agent," she soberly agreed.

Dixon cast her a cautious, sympathetic glance. "If things had been different Syd, I think Jack would have expected him to fill his shoes in more ways than just at the CIA."

"Two years," she shook her head. "How could I just *lose* two years?"

"I don't know yet Syd, but we'll find out, then we'll bring them to justice."

"Medical services gave me an ocular scan," she recalled. "They were looking for proteins, they wanted to see if I was a double."

"Yes."

"How is that possible? The machine was destroyed."

"There's reason to believe that your mother, Sark and Sloane compiled enough information to reassemble the machine from the Intel they collected. We don't have any definite proof, but we can't be too cautious."

"What happened to all of them? Is Sark still in our custody?"

"As far as the three of them are concerned, it's a long, drawn out story that is definitely not suitable bedtime story material," he smiled gently at her as they arrived at medical services. "Eat something soon Syd, Kendall means what he says," he advised as she nodded. "I'll come by tomorrow, hopefully before you go into a debriefing."

"Thank you," she whispered, feeling the tears pool in her eyes as she hugged her former partner. Dixon was the first person she'd encountered since her reappearance that made her feel like she still easily fit into his life. "I want to meet Sarah and see the kids once I get out of here."

"I can't wait," he smiled at her, helping her onto the cot before he left her.

The quiet of the room did nothing to sooth her nerves or lull her into sleep. For an unbearable amount of time - reasonably she knew it was less then an hour - she lay there. They had stripped her of her jewelry so she didn't even have her watch to play with. What had happened to her father? If Sloane was involved in any way - and she had no evidence to conclude that he *wasn't* involved - she would save up all her energy to hunt him down and lynch him. Perhaps he had nothing to do with her little disappearing act, but her entire soul still blamed the tiny man for the destruction of her world. Maybe Arvin Sloane had some internal alarm that rang anytime she neared true happiness and he intuitively had to ruin it. Since making people miserable was his occupation of choice, it would be no great surprise.

Please be my father, she silently prayed to whatever controlling force was up there as the door clicked open. Unwillingly - she really *was* tired - her eyes opened as she struggled to sit up. Her fingers moved her hair from her face and wiped the sleep out of her eyes.

Her visitor looked more suited for the role of anxious canary than she did. They stood in silence for a moment before her unwelcome visitor broke it, "Hi."

"Vaughn."
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A/N: Okay, check this theory out. My sister watched Alias last night (finally - I was DYING not being able to talk to Meg about it) and she said that it looks like Sydney's belly buttons been sewn up. How's THAT theory? Going back, it looks like Meg's right. Oh, yeah, and she says I shouldn't be mad at Vaughn - NOT likely!
Oh, yeah - you guys are AMAZING! So many reviews it blows my mind! I'm glad I can help some of the post-ep uneasiness. Please let me know what you think. I've got more coming.
Duh - I don't put words in italics because the format I use won't let me. Plus I don't name my chapters because, well, I just don't. I run spell-check & grammar-check on everything I post, but I don't have a beta on the grounds of the fact that well, I don't have one and I'm probably not patient enough for one. Plus the computer says I need to capitalize words after the ("..."), so I do. Oh, yeah, and anyone else who's birthday is October 4th rocks :) Okay, anyway, off to post another 3am chapter (probably because I was asleep at 7 and missed the stupid Celtics-Nets game!)